Clean as a Whistle
by skwirelygurli
Summary: Ally comes to visit Austin on tour. Auslly.


**Clean as a Whistle, an Austin and Ally oneshot**

**I do not own Austin and Ally. For TheWritingFreak, who suggested listening to "All of Me" by John Legend. Please review!**

Red rimmed eyes and mascara running down her cheeks, she runs a tissue across her face.

"Here, let me do it." Austin takes the tissue, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. He should have warned her to wear waterproof makeup. But dedicating that song to her had been a spur of the moment thing, as had been pulling her out on stage and kissing her nose. Because yes, he can respect boundaries, and does not need rabid teenage fans burning tabloid pictures of them kissing with the promise of exacting their revenge on her. He chose her, and always will. They'll need to learn to deal with it.

They hadn't even been his words. He'd heard the song eating his diner pancakes, and his mind had gone to her.

Truth be told, his mind had been going to her already.

Though can it be going to her if it never left the thought? Always on his mind, thinking about her all the time.

"That was so sweet," she cooed, encompassing him in a hug. The dirty tissue fell to the ground.

"Oops." That can just stay on the ground for a little while.

As for him, he'll stay in her arms.

Until she has to go back to Miami to finish recording her album. Which he really wants her to do, because she deserves it, but would it be selfish to handcuff her to himself, lose the key and have her stay? It'd be difficult, that's for certain.

Think about it, how would he take a shower? That handcuff would rust.

And there's the whole being naked in front of Ally thing. He doesn't need that to happen again.

He should have locked the bathroom door.

"Oh God, I am so sorry!" she had said.

"Ah, Ally!" he had said, rushing to get a towel.

"Your mom asked me to get her medicine from the cabinet. I didn't think you'd be coming out of the shower." She had groped around with the other hand over her eyes, trying to locate the bottle. "Is this it?"

"That is not the bottle!" It had only been the toothbrush holder, but he did not need her to keep fumbling about. Who knew what she'd pick up next if she continued.

Who knows how he would have reacted to her grabbing.

He knows.

He's not going to tell.

He's going to let go of this hug before he convinces himself to invest in a pair of handcuffs.

"Do you really have to go back to Miami?" he asks, despite the answer being obvious.

"Tomorrow night, yeah."

He sighs dejectedly. Finally gets the girl and she has to leave. No more kisses that make his heart soar so high that had his mouth not been on hers, it would have came right out until it hit the ceiling.

Obviously he needs to keep kissing her if he doesn't want to lose his heart.

But it's her kisses that send his heart on the mission to escape to begin with.

Can she be the cure to the symptoms she supplies?

"But we still have all of tomorrow." She grabs his hand.

"I have that meet and greet tomorrow."

"I'll go with you."

She keeps to her word, sitting beside him with a marker pen of her own. Originally she had planned on reading a book, but fans kept asking for her to get in the picture too, and she couldn't get past the first chapter.

Austin couldn't get past her presence.

In every picture he'd be looking at her. Not the teeny bopper he was posing with, or the camera. Her.

Some of those looks were a bit lusty.

Like, when this line is done, and we're exhausted, we're going to curl up and sleep together. In the cleanest way possible. Which does require him taking his shirt off, but that's because it's ridden with sweat, but he'll put a new one on, post un-handcuffed shower, and they'll curl together, her using his chest as a pillow.

See, clean as a whistle.

There are 100 million germs in the human mouth. How clean can that really be?

Clean as a _brand spanking new _whistle.

That's better. Minus the spanking part.

There will be no spanking in this endeavor.

For future endeavors, that has yet to be determined.

"Austin, are you okay?" She waves her hand in front of his face, apologizing to the girl in line. "I'm sorry, he gets like this when he's hungry."

"He can have my sandwich!"

"No, Austin, take my cookie!"

The fans dig into their bags, rummaging around for food. He buries his face into his hands.

She pulls his fingers from his eyes. The way his hand fits with hers, it's so perfect. As is the rest of her, from her pointed elbows that have been jabbing him awake all afternoon, to the curve of her nose that he wants to bump against his, so he can kiss it better and miss by a few inches.

He takes her nose and kisses it like the night prior. Just like how he's going to take it tonight again when he sings her that song. It's been stuck in his head all afternoon.

"This one's for you Ally Dawson."

And then he sings a song that has all the right words, as if it was written for the two of them. But it wasn't. Some guy, somewhere had written it, about some girl that wasn't her. Funny, could their relationship match so closely to another's? They're special.

Here's the thing. She may be perfect for him, and him for her, but that doesn't mean that they're the only happy couple in the world.

They just happen to be the only happy couple that he cares about. So he forgets the rest.

It may sound rude, selfish, or whatever label you want to sling at him, but for once in his life, he feels complete. He doesn't need to search the rest of the world to find his soulmate. One less candidate for the rest to sort through.

He's not giving this one up.

Except for a month, while he finishes his tour and she finishes her CD. But then they're going to be together, and so will be a million other couples, but they're different.

Why, you ask?

Because they're not Austin and Ally.

They're not two souls brought together by a pair of corndog drumsticks, living out their dreams with each other.

Sure, they can say the same thing about them, like how they'll never be the couple that met because the line at the post office was long enough to start a conversation, or the couple that met because she had skidded on a patch of ice, and he let her sit in his car to stay warm while they waited for the tow truck to come. Each story is worth telling. Each story is amazing.

But only one story can be his favorite, and it's his.

Because that's the one he's living.

The one where he turns on the radio three weeks later, on the last legs of his tour, and he hears her voice.

"_Your arms wrapped around the mic stand,_

_like they should be round my waist,_

_because your love I cannot replace._

_Boy I miss you so."_

"Don't you just love Ally's new song?" Trish asks, giving him a knowing smile.

"I love it." He can't wait to tell her.

He can't wait to kiss her.

Four more days.

Then he's coming home, straight into her arms.

Because that mic stand has nothing on Ally.


End file.
